A Very Weasley Christmas
by JeminiaMoon
Summary: An advent calendar written for Aiko's challenge (see inside for more details). Each story is a different moment, unrelated to all others, from the Weasleys' Christmases together. Enjoy!
1. Chill

**Welcome to my FanFiction advent calendar! It is written for Aiko's challenge at the RLt:**

**Write 24 short little fics (between 100-1000 words) for any fandom, any pairing, any rating you'd like, even though up to T would be nice. On the 25th day write a full oneshot (1000-5000 words) to finalize it. It's like a little advent calendar, mostly for fun.**

**Enjoy!**

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Prompt 1-Chill

In the darkness of an overcrowded living room, nine faces were glowing in a flickering half-light. Though it was Christmas, none of the nine Weasleys were feeling particularly generous. This year, their lack of wealth had chilled their hearts—they understood that money wasn't everything, but it seemed a lot more significant now that they had none.

It had been one of their darkest Christmas days to date. With a new baby—Ginevra—making one more child to supply with Christmas cheer, presents had been limited to one homemade sweater for everyone and one slab of chocolate for all the boys to share. Arthur and Molly did their best to entertain the boys and little Ginny, but no one was fooled—the holidays, supposedly a time of peace, prosperity, and happiness, was seriously lacking in the "prosperity" department…which, naturally, got rid of all good cheer that remained.

But Weasleys were not known for having less than an overabundance of hope. Molly, particularly, stared at the family she loved and saw that she, for having this family that she had now, was a very prosperous woman indeed-even if they now felt like an icy wind had blown through their hearts. The Galleons would come in time; right now, this was as good a holiday as any for a monetarily-deprived Weasley: peace, safety, and family.

Warmth would come later: at the moment, a chill which they all shared was good enough.


	2. Cocoa

**Prompt #2: Cocoa**

With the Leaky Cauldron as crowded as it ever got, Molly and Arthur considered themselves lucky to have secured this room, no matter how small and spider-infested it was, for the next three days. They sat warming their hands by the tiny fireplace and perusing the _Daily Prophet, _the page of their attention covered in phrases such as 'pleasant family home' and 'reduced price,' plus several monochromatic photographs depicting houses in various degrees of shabbiness. Molly sighed, seeing the cheapest price offering yet and realizing it was still out of their range.

"I don't know what we're going to do, Arthur," she murmured. Her fiancée looked up from a paragraph that had slipped out of his brain as soon as he read it to see her face wet with tear streaks.

"There, there." He pulled her shoulder closer to his, breathing her warm, flowery scent. "We'll make it work…"

The words did not fool Molly, who had grown up listening to her parents repeat the exact same reassurances over and over: they never helped the family's monetary desperation. It was always a hopeless situation that Molly hoped to escape someday. Now, it seemed, that would not be happening—she was still just as poor as she was ten years previously, and none of her wishes could help that.

While Molly's head bowed down and muffled sobs began to fill the silence, Arthur continued to read down the property listings. His eyes stopped on one that looked promising. "Molly…this one looks like it has potential…" His gentle tones soothed Molly's swirling thoughts. She lifted her head to see a fuzzy, unclear picture that Arthur had pushed over to her—it seemed to show a dead-grass-and-dirt property sprinkled with the occasional chicken, strutting from the sole building there-a run-down chicken coop.

"Well…it's cheap…" Molly said, trying to see optimism where there was none.

"Yes, Molly," Arthur replied, his voice coming stronger and stronger as he found the optimism that Molly failed to see. "We could make it work, I just know we could."

His strength made Molly's heart overflow with happiness—while she was groveling in self-pity, he had found the solution to their homelessness, and just in time for Christmas in a week. She planted a quick kiss on his forehead and reached into the only bag she owned, a patch-worked shoulder bag that was falling apart at the seams, pulling out two packets of Kwick-Cocoa Magic Mix.

Arthur smiled and said, "This definitely qualifies as a special occasion." The grin never left his face as Molly poured the mix into two battered, secondhand mugs and waved her wand over them with a flourish. Clinking mugs and laughing, they both took huge gulps, spluttering with even more laughter as the hot cocoa scalded their throats.

Chocolate, hope, and fiancées. It was the solution to any problem.


	3. Milestone

**Thank you so much to all of my reviewers! **

**FredNeverDied—lovinMaya—ginnyandharryluvr—Edhla—Amanda Katrice Granger—Wendy Brune**

**You guys are amazing! Here's chapter three…I wrote it for all of you!**

**Prompt #3: Milestone**

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There was something to be said about parents who never took a hint, and Ron was sure that if he said it, his mother would throw a hissy-fit. But no matter how many times he complained loudly about the disgusting qualities of the color maroon, or shoved green yarn under his mother's nose while she knitted sweaters, or stole all the reddish-purple skeins (and all the orange ones, too, for good measure) from Molly's yarn basket, Molly always found a way to create a new maroon sweater just for him.

Now the owner of twelve of these presents in varying sizes and conditions, Ron had decided that enough was enough. He had finally reached a dozen Christmas cardigans, and he had no intention of receiving any more, so his plan began to formulate.

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On December twenty-eighth, Molly awoke to find a hastily scribbled note on her night table. Squinting to make out the sloppy letters, Molly read,

_Dear Mum,_

_I don't want another maroon sweater for Christmas next year. Don't get me wrong, your sweaters are __amazing__…just not in maroon._

_Ron._

She smiled, realizing the milestone that had occurred—it was the first time that Ron had let go of his fears of a reprimanding and told her how he felt, even at the risk of punishment. Maybe he really was growing up, as Arthur had commented.

She continued through the day with a bittersweet feeling: glad that her children were maturing, but slightly tearful at how rapidly they seemed to be growing up. It wasn't long, she thought, before they would be leaving her—just like her first two sons had done.


	4. Welcome

**I think this has to be the fastest update in history! In an attempt to get back up to date, I will be doing a great deal of updating in the next few hours/days.**

**For this chapter, Aiko's prompt was 'tipsy,' but, as we can pick and choose which prompts to use, I am choosing not to use this one. Instead, I created my own prompt, which is:**

**Prompt #4: Welcome**

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"Quick, George! She's coming!" Fred whispered urgently, spotting Auntie Muriel clambering up their front path. George leaped away from the large pineapple, a recent addition that was affixed to a stool next to the door. Seconds later, the door flew open and hit the wall with a bang as Muriel adjusted her feathery hat.

"Molly!" she shrieked. "Arthur! I am in need of an escort; I am one hundred and one!"

If Muriel had deteriorated in her old age, it was not in ways that showed. Fred and George, hidden behind a hydrangea plant in the hallway, watched Muriel's progress around the house with avid interest, shaking with laughter as she declaimed the tablecloth "Faded!" and the pictures on the walls "Outdated." Arthur and Molly, following behind, did not look shocked or outraged in the slightest; on the contrary, Arthur seemed to be suppressing giggles of his own, while Molly shot him furtive glances out of the corner of her eye.

Following a particularly loud snort from Arthur, Muriel turned to the pineapple, causing Fred and George to suddenly sit up straighter, feeling anticipatory excitement. "Tacky," she denounced the new decoration. "Cliché. And-"

Her sentence was not finished as she had begun screaming: the pineapple had grown limbs and jumped onto her, encircling her neck with its stubby arms. After a few moments of watching his great-aunt struggle, Fred jumped out, grinning with no abandon, yelling, "Do you like our welcome pineapple?" Muriel finally ripped the pineapple off of her neck and ran through the open door with surprising speed, screaming atrocities. The twins collapsed into fits of laughter that were abruptly silenced when Molly turned her disapproving glare to them.

"I think our welcome pineapple was a little too enthusiastic for Mum's taste, Fred," George muttered, wondering what kind of punishment this offense could merit. Whatever it was, a Muriel-free holiday was worth any pain they received.

Fred grinned back at his twin—it was times like these when they could just about read each other's minds. _This is the best Christmas ever, Georgie._

_You're absolutely right, Freddie._


	5. Awkward

**Prompt #5: Awkward**

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It is Christmas; that much can be seen. Stockings, varying from dusty green and hand-knitted to modern and emblazoned with a flashing Chudley Cannons logo, crowd the mantel to the point of clutter. A full-sized banquet seems to be testing the table's weight capacity, and the crooning of Celestina Warbeck's old Christmas album is filling every place not already occupied by another sound. In the tiny, heavily-leaning house, every inch of space seems to be covered with people: Charlie discussing the latest arrivals at the dragon sanctuary with Bill and Hagrid; Arthur and Angelina laughing at something George just said; Rose and Hugo eating through piles of Molly's excellent treacle tart; Hermione sitting in a corner, reading; Ron giving her a half-amused, half-exasperated look; Albus, James, Louis, Lily, Teddy, and Victoire playing Exploding Snap…the scene is best described as over-complicated.

Within all of the loudness and celebratory joy, there is one oasis of calm: an upstairs bedroom, occupied by only Harry and Ginny. They are murmuring to each other, each remembering memories of fifteen Christmases together and all the holidays before then, when things were harder. They are about to touch lips when Lily bursts into the room, screaming, "Ron says get your-"

She breaks off as Harry and Ginny both turn to look at her, seeing that not only has she interrupted their Christmas kiss, but George, Fred II, James, and Louis have accompanied her. There is an awkward silence, broken only as George, who, obviously, still believes he is twelve years old, wolf-whistles. "George!" Ginny scolds, but she is laughing; they all are, because it is Christmas, and everything is perfect, and nobody has a care in the world.

George lingers at the threshold of the upstairs bedroom slightly longer than the rest of the party. He stares into the now-deserted bed, whispering, "You'd be proud of them, Fred…not even fifteen and already major troublemakers."


	6. Freedom

**I'm almost there-only two more chapters after this and I'll be up-to-date! Thank you to all of my reviewers…I couldn't write all of this without you!**

**Prompt #6: Freedom**

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Charlie was simultaneously exhilarated, overjoyed, and upset. Riding dragons, a new pastime of his, always made him happy, but missing his family's Christmas dinner was a shame—nothing, not even speeding across the mountains on the back of a Hungarian Horntail, could make up for that. He was at a point in his life where he had to choose between family and freedom, and the decision was still unclear.

_Family: _He would have a holiday filled with unconditional love and marvelous family members. Mum would fuss over his hair and his burns in her protective, motherly way that Charlie loved; Dad would have another fascinating Muggle contraption to display and another hug to give; Bill would always be up for a table fight; Percy…well, he was family, and that counted for something, but it didn't make him any less of a pompous know-it-all; Fred and George could be counted on for twenty-four-hour entertainment and hopefully rid all holidays of great-aunts named Muriel; Ron, ever since he had resolved most of his conflicts with Hermione, was cheerful and full of spirit; and Ginny, with her witty remarks and constant laughter, was the best sister he could wish for. It was the recipe for an ideal holiday, with only one more thing that could make it better.

And that one thing was what made all the difference: there were no dragons, with their killing claws and impaling spikes and burning breath; dragons, who were to him what Muggle artifacts were to Dad; dragons, who were beautiful and terrible and deliciously _free. _And freedom was what Charlie needed right now…

He only wished his family was there to enjoy the feeling with him.


	7. Night Lights

**Prompt #7: Night Lights**

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"Ginny. _Gin_. Wake up!"

Bill's whisper cuts into Ginny's dreams, and immediately she is awake. Opening bleary brown eyes, she stares up to see all of her brothers crowded around her bed: a challenge, since there are six of them and the bed is only big enough to fit a six-year-old girl.

"Wha's goin' on?" she asks sleepily.

"Shhhh…" George cautions. "Don't wake Mum and Dad."

With that, they are off, silently tip-toeing down the stairs, avoided the creaky third to last step; they slink through the kitchen and out of the door. Ginny's eyes widen; it is, after all, December—what are they doing?

Bill leads her outside into a snowy world. She sees Fred and George, laughing and dancing, snow gathering on their red hair like crowns of crystals. Ron is licking the snowflakes up; his tongue is hanging out and he looks quite funny, like a dog with his head sticking out of a car window. Bill smiles and whispers, "Look up, Ginny."

She tilts her head to the sky, and a brilliant green light is there. She gasps, watching the magnificent night light swirl and swoop and shimmer like Fred's snowflake-dotted hair, glinting in the night. She laughs, extending her arms; she tries to grab the lights like they are a tangible object, and now her brothers are realizing the light show that Bill has brought them to see; their faces light up as they, too, began to show the joy that their six-year-old sister has demonstrated. The Weasleys, even stoic, scholarly Percy, skip and wave their arms and grin in the light of the fading aurora borealis.

And when it is gone, they continue to play in the snow, the image of the best night light show they have ever seen burned into their vision. Their joy never diminishes: the seven Weasleys dance in the snow like fallen angels, feeling like they could jump up and fly away.

It is a beautiful scene.


	8. Fluffy

**I am now up to date! I think it's a record-six updates in one day-but it had to be done. Anyway, here's the next chapter in the Weasleys' Christmas Saga! Enjoy!**

**Prompt #8: Fluffy**

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This was a special Christmas because Fred and George were given permission to decorate the tree. No one was exactly sure if they would be surviving the coming holiday, due to the twins' tendency to ignite everything they touched, but it was sure to be exciting.

The living room was blocked off with sheets and Imperturbed against everyone but Fred and George by Molly, at the twins' request, for a day, in which the twins were just red-headed blurs storming in and out of the room, heavily laden with cardboard boxes that seemed to shake suspiciously in their arms. Some skilled eavesdropping on Ginny's part determined that Fred and George were not making any explosions, but there was something that was emitting shrill squeaking noises in the living room. That day, the family waited and anticipated and worried.

For dramatic effect, the twins insisted on sleeping with their masterpiece and revealing it in the morning. There was an air of excitement as the Weasleys awoke before dawn, running downstairs and crowding at the blocked entrance to the living room, awaiting the moment that the sheet would be swept away.

Seven o' clock, eight o' clock, nine o' clock passed, and nothing happened. The room was quiet, with no squeaking, no whispered conversations. Ten o' clock. Ron became bored and fell asleep, leaning on the kitchen table. Eleven o' clock…

At the clock's chime of eleven, the curtain swung away, and there stood Fred and George, wearing the identical looks that appeared on their faces when they had committed some mischievous crime. "Ta-da!" they announced in unison, throwing their arms wide as they displayed the Christmas tree, covered with…

Pygmy puffs. Nestled in branches, hung on hooks, sitting in alcoves—the vibrantly pink and purple puffballs were jammed in every area of the tree that was available. Tufts of the violet- and carnation-colored fluff had been shed on everything in the room—the couch, the floor, Fred and George. And the two Christmas ambassadors, grinning identically, regaled everyone with their very own rendition of the Muggle song, 'Holly Jolly Christmas': "Have a very fluffy Christmas! And in case you didn't hear…oh, by golly have a furry, fluffy Christmas…this year!"

Reactions were desultory, ranging from uncontrollable giggling by Ginny, who was looking up and down the tree in search of Arnold, to exasperated sighs by Percy, whose disapproval of his brothers heightened greatly after the 'Fluffy Christmas' incident.


	9. Absent

**Again, I won't be doing Aiko's prompt for this one ('posture'). **

**Prompt #9: Absent**

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It was not immediately apparent that there was someone missing, but beneath the wild chatter and wide smiles of the family, there was a darkness lurking. The absence was not noted in an empty chair or extra plate, but it was still there, and it was still just as important as it would be if it were particularly noticeable.

The Weasleys were blissfully unaware, the year before, that their last Christmas dinner together had just occurred. It may have crossed their minds that one of them—especially since Ron had left to go horcrux-hunting—might not survive the war, but the actual possibility of life without Fred was not even considered.

Until it was reality.

Suddenly, George was no longer a pair. Jokes had lost their humor without Fred there to complete the punch line. Sometimes, George would forget that he was not a twin anymore and start a sentence, but without Fred, it would dangle meaninglessly in the air, like one-half of a friendship locket, one that would never meet its match. It was now Christmas, but every day had lost its meaning without Fred—so why should this one be any different?

It was not instantly recognizable that a part of their family was gone, but Fred's absence put the pain there, in each of them, like holes in their hearts.


End file.
